coming apart, pulling together
by transfletcher
Summary: Just a moment. The kind you want to bottle up to enjoy fresh all through your life.


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"Do you remember when we first met?"

Posed softly, his voice slightly muffled from the cheek he has pressed to Jean's shoulder, Kain's question doesn't register for a few moments. Jean half-wonders why he feels the need to talk at all; he's more than happy to lay in the peaceful quiet of the afterglow, Kain's arm draped over his waist, their feet bumping affectionately under the mess they've made of the bedsheets. Faint moonlight seeps through the blinds and streaks their entwined bodies, painting patterns over their bare skin. It's one of those moments you want to bottle up to enjoy fresh all through your life, however cliché it sounds; Jean doesn't want to speak and ruin it.

Still, he can't leave Kain hanging, either. He sighs and twines his fingers with the small ones Kain has splayed over his stomach.

"Uh, probably," he answers. "Why d'you ask?"

Kain hesitates, for whatever reason. He presses his forehead between Jean's shoulder blades and hugs him tighter, like he's trying to hide in him. "Just wondering," he mumbles.

"Is that what you're thinkin' about right now?"

"Kind of. I was mostly just trying to start a conversation." His voice is getting fainter and fainter; it frays slightly at the edges with something like discomfort. "I thought you might want to talk."

"No, no, I do," Jean says, seeking to reassure him, hurriedly chasing the peace from earlier before awkwardness replaces it. That's not the note their first time together should end on. "Was just confused, is all. Yeah, let's talk. You were askin' if I remember when we met?"

"Mm," Kain agrees. "And, like—what did you first think of me, that kind of thing."

Jean hums himself as he conjures the memory up, shutting his eyes to better see it in his mind. "Remember the colonel—sorry, the brigadier general—tellin' me and the others he got assigned that new recruit he'd had his eye on. Young kid, he called you, but real clever. A real asset. You must've shown up at the door within the minute. I looked over at the doorway where you were standin', big-eyed as you took us all in, and I swear, gold light shone down from above and made you glow, and the weather outside instantly cleared, and there was a choir singin'—"

"Oh, knock it off, you're making that up," Kain interrupts, even as Jean feels his cheek heat against his shoulder. "I know that wasn't what you thought when we _first_ met."

"Who says it wasn't?" Jean insists, half-turning to show Kain a smirk and a single quirked eyebrow. When Kain kicks his calf—his cold foot makes Jean jump more than any force behind the blow—Jean laughs and surrenders. "Oh, all right, maybe I didn't think all that right away. I did think you were cute, though, and that's the honest truth."

"Sure it is," Kain quips.

"It really is! Of course I thought you were cute. S'like I said, you had those big eyes, round cheeks, fluffy, spiky sorta hair. 'Course I thought you were cute. Maybe not in a 'boyfriend material' kinda way at first—more in a 'lost puppy' kinda way. Didn't help that I thought you were around Fullmetal's age."

He squirms away from Kain's cold feet and yelps when the kick makes contact again anyway, painless as it is. "Hey, you wanted to know!" he insists, trying and failing to bite down a laugh.

"Fullmetal was thirteen when I was assigned to the brigadier general!" Kain tells him indignantly. When Jean doesn't respond, just grins wider, he adds for emphasis, "I did _not_ look thirteen!"

"You kinda did," Jean answers, chuckling at the incredulous noise Kain gives in response. "Okay, okay, calm down," he says, and squeezes their joined hands. "I was teasing. 'Course you looked older than thirteen."

" _Thank_ you."

There's a small pause.

"You looked _fourteen_ ," Jean says.

"You're pushing your luck," Kain grouses.

Jean reaches back with his free hand to cup the nape of Kain's neck, which encourages Kain to lean forward and kiss Jean's shoulder, even if it isn't entirely deserved. Jean makes a contented noise, low in his throat.

"Your turn, then," he says. "What'd you think of me, first time you saw me? Be honest."

"Be honest?"

Jean nods.

"I thought your cigarette was going to light the curtains on fire," Kain tells him.

Jean snorts. "You're not serious." He can feel the curve of Kain's smug grin on the back of his neck. "Oh, come _on._ You get 'lost puppy with a youthful face,' I get 'fire hazard'? And people say you're the nice one."

"You told me to be honest!"

"Sure, sure. Just for the record, _kiddo_ , those curtains aren't flammable. Trust me, the brigadier general and I tested it enough to know for sure," Jean says.

"That sounds like a productive use of time."

"Didn't say we ever tested it on purpose," Jean clarifies.

Kain shudders against him. "There's a sentence to give me gray hair and heart palpitations. Please, Jean, try not to die. Especially not through your own stupidity."

"'Course not. Have a _little_ faith in me, why don't you."

Another pause, longer, but gentler. With Kain's fingers tracing the lines of his ribs and peace in his heart, Jean's just about to nod off.

"And here we are," Kain murmurs, before sleep takes him.

Jean hums. "Yep. Here we are. Till you get sick of me, that is."

"I'm not going to get sick of you," Kain says softly against the hollow of his neck. The warm breath of his chuckle tickles Jean's ear. "Even if you're a pyromaniac."

"They were _accidents_ ," Jean insists, swinging his heel back and missing Kain's shin by a wide margin.

"One or two times is 'accidents.' Enough times to know beyond a reasonable doubt that the curtains aren't flammable is pretty questionable," Kain responds.

"Go to sleep, jailbait."

He earns the answering pinch.

"You know what isn't questionable, though?" Kain asks a few moments later, as Jean's eyes fall shut. He cracks one back open.

"What?"

His face is warm between Jean's shoulders again. "I love you."

Jean snickers, just once, squeezing Kain's hand again to let him know he's not being callous. "Love you, too."

He doesn't need a snapshot of this moment, this feeling. He'll just do his damnedest to hang on to the real thing.


End file.
